


Jatlas Drabbles

by Ringo_likes_Trains



Category: BioShock, jatlas - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M, atlas is real au, gay sea boys helping each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringo_likes_Trains/pseuds/Ringo_likes_Trains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just quick drabbles i'd written on 750words.com and I decided to post. I hope you enjoy the fluffy underwater boys :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jatlas Drabbles

Jack tried to open his eyes, tried to move his limbs. They wouldn't budge. He could barely feel anything, other than the intruding cold through his sweater, and the cool metal of his trusty wrench in his hand. He listened for the sound of Splicers coming his way, or a Daddy stomping down the hall to step his head in. Or Atlas' voice over the beaten radio strapped to his belt. 

Just thinking about the Irishman gave Jack a....feeling. Not particularly bad, but not good either. Like his heart were skipping a beat, but stopping all together. The man's thoughts were cut short by the sound of static cutting through the air. His cold hand sprung up with strength he didn't think he had left, gripping at the portable radio and coughing.

'A.....Atlas."

"Oi, Boyo, what do ya think yer doin'? I didn't give ya permission to die on me, now did I?"

He let out a short giggle, pressing the radio to his chapped lips, "No, no you didn't..."

More static, "Good, now Jackie, would ya kindly get up and tape yerself up? I know it's hard, but I believe in ya. We gotta kill that bastard Ryan."

His heart fluttered again, with the nickname that Atlas had said...affectionately? Sighing and coughing up the shit that had settled his lungs, Jack sat up and hooked the radio back onto his belt. Clawing and gripping at the wall for support, he realized how much blood had covered his jumper and pants.

His arms was red and sore from injecting himself with countless Eves, his legs were tired from walking almost non stop for what seemed like days. His ears had popped hours ago, leaving everything an annoying mumbled mess. His poor feet were more blister than skin. His muscles wanted to give up, he wanted to give up. But he wouldn't, not after what Atlas had told him.  
\-------

Slamming down another empty packet of cigarettes on the cluttered desk and watching the blood covered man on the fuzzy screen. Setting back in the creaky chair, gripping at the dodgy radio and watching the smoke curl around the makeshift headquarters. Feet on the desk, hands running through thick hair.

Setting up in the chair so quickly, the legs slam onto the cold floor. Grabbing the chair arms so hard his knuckles turn white. Snatching the radio, ready to scream for the man on the other end to run, or play dead, or, or.... Anything but get caught by one of those maniacs.

This was Atlas' newly found nightly routine.

Eat. Smoke. Yell. Repeat.

It probably wasn't very healthy, but after his poor Moira and Patrick...who cared? After his family, well, the poor bastard on the screen was all Atlas had left.  
\------------------

Little Sisters were creepy little shits made for harvesting, as far as Atlas was concerned. It probably didn't help that he'd never had a liking to kids, his son excluded, of course. Sticky little bastards, always whining.

Jack, on the other hand, had tried to save as many as the little girls he could, sending them to the safety of the corroding bunks.He'd spend upwards of hours defeating Big Daddies just to save a poor little girl. Something about it made the Irishman feel...warm, every time. It became a bit of tradition to grab at the boy's sweater and kiss the nape of his neck after every girl he'd save. Jack got used to it pretty quick.  
\--------------------------

Nightmares were the worst part about visiting Rapture. Nightmares of Splicers crawling above your bunk, to land on top of your sleeping form and suck the life out of you. Or of a Little Sister stealing your Adam, not being able to fight back. Or your partner succumbing to a Big Daddy, whaling for you to save them.

Sometimes Jack wakes up screaming. Sometimes he's left alone in the dark, shaking and holding himself. On those nights, he'd rock himself back to sleep, dreaming of the day he could escape the underwater prison.

On the good nights, though, Atlas is with him. Atlas is right next to him, holding him and rocking with him. Kissing his neck and singing old Irish folk songs into his ear. Gently laying him down and giving him gentle, loving pecks to the face.

On those nights, Jack would listen to the sound of the other's heartbeat, feeling the warm fingers stroke his hair. He'd dream about the day he and Atlas could both escape this underwater prison, hand in hand, with a dead Andrew Ryan. Then he'd think about the the life they would share together.


End file.
